


Inmates

by VerdantQueen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Dark Oliver Queen, Eventual Barry Allen/Oliver Queen, Humor, Hurt Barry Allen, M/M, Oliver has nightmares, Protective Barry Allen, Protective Oliver, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantQueen/pseuds/VerdantQueen
Summary: In which Barry visits Oliver during his time in Supermax, planning on rescuing him.





	1. Madness

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this out of my head, so I just had to write it. Also, I want to apologize in advance if there are any mistakes. Kudos and comments are appreciated. 
> 
> Without further ado, here it is.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

**_“You see, madness, as you know is like gravity._ **

**_All it takes is a little push.”_ **

****

 

 Before he revealed himself, the _Green Arrow_ was just an ideal, a promise, a hope. It could have been anyone and no one. The man under the hood wasn’t important, he benefitted from the anonymity, and so, he was never meant to be a person, he just was what the city needed him to be. The _Green Arrow_ was what mattered. And now he’s got a face and a name, no alter ego to be protected by, especially when he finds himself confined with the lives he so _rightfully_ spared.

 He can deal with the fallout of his choice, but to give up the only constant thing on his life other than lost and pain is another story. It’s harder than it seems to lose control over one’s life when you have for so long been used to it.

 Here, everything is different. He doesn’t go by his name, he outed himself, there’s no more double life, there’s just the prisoner; he and his mind. Locked up with the one enemy he can’t defeat.

 Days have passed. He’s been counting them down, certainly not expecting his release, searching instead some sense of normalcy to hold on to, to focus on what _is_ at his will, on what he can control, which is little to none.

 Days might be difficult, but nights are unbearable, mostly because he’s left alone with his thoughts; with the weight of a choice that now seems ludicrous, so far-fetched from reality. For crimes he may have had committed. For saving others regardless of their betrayal. Making the ultimate sacrifice but hurting in the process the ones he’s sworn to protect, to _love._

  

~~~~~~

 

 He knew this place, maybe just by its name. He hadn’t been here before, but he is now well-known among the voices in the halls, held captive within the lives he ended.

 This place –Slabside Penitentiary– is imposing, threatening almost, it’s dark and cold, and  _unforgiven_ , just like the rest of the inmates.

 This metahuman supermax prison is accurately nicknamed _The Slab,_ the reason, allegedly, is due to its escape-proof reputation, since the only way to get out is "on a slab."

 Hardly bewildered by this fact, he's stuck-almost religiously-to his sentence. Avoiding conflicts; keeping his head down... although that doesn’t mean the fights stay away from him, it must be due to his magnetic personality and great charm. The same that got him his playboy status a lifetime ago.

 Here he is, the playboy, the mayor, the weapon. A hero to some, a friend to many, but lonely as ever. He's been looking at the wall _,_ drowning on the downpour of his rambling thoughts far more than what should be normal, not that he’s normal either–wearing a leather outfit and a bow to kill or to spare people for their crimes depending on their luck is enough proof as it is–or that he cares, is just that he can’t fall asleep, he’s becoming numb.

 There are no stakes in this place, there's nothing to lose when he's lost it all, nothing and no one to bargain his life for. What’s the point of it all when he's used to live his life for others?

 There have been unrelenting nights like this, where his mind kept wandering around _what ifs._ It just doesn’t stop. There are no breaks between the nightmares and the reality. The facts seem like illusions, unfitting pieces on a puzzle; there’s no differentiating what’s a hallucination and what isn't.

 What is, in fact, distinguishable, is his unwavering conviction to resist the urge to follow his primal instincts, where a boiling rage underlies, intrinsic to his very being, making it nearly impossible to breathe, restraining.

 He’s got nobody to talk to. He doesn't know if it’s day or night, the only remnant of time are the marks he’s made on the wall, similar to how his body was tainted by destiny’s years ago on his _first sentence._

Everything is the same. This space is constricting, the SHU makes him feel like a caged animal despite the fact that he’s been a prisoner before: of the island, of the power, of his father’s dying wish, and of his crusade, of the masquerade to justify his killing spree. But this? This is different, this is _worst_ , he’s going insane.

 It’s only been a month.

  

 That day. a month ago, team flash succeeded.

  

~~~~~~

  

_There is no shortage of celebration, congratulations, and mixed feelings; it’s not that Barry isn’t happy for their triumph, it’s got more to do with the fact that he knows it’s not his alone, there was someone else, a speedster, who helped him take down the Thinker, but who and why remains to be seen._

_So naturally, Barry puts up a smile on his face to keep this matter to himself until he has reliable proof that it actually happened._

_Everyone is chatting, unknowing of what’s got him so wrapped up. Everything seems to slow down, these moments never last long enough, he wants to capture it, to relive it again later on. Specially after the outcome wrought by the crisis on Earth-X was so devastating, more emotionally impactful than the actual damage caused on the surroundings._

_The wedding was interrupted by Nazis from another dimension – just another day on sunny Central City – and the reception was nearly perfect, excepting Oliver’s and Felicity’s argument on marriage that led to their final break-up realizing they wanted different things relationship-wise going forward._

_Iris was trying hard to not break down, but it was proving to be an impossible mission since her brother was killed by the Reverse Flash’s latest incarnation: Eobard Thawne, after her fiancé – soon to be husband – let him go as a reminder of his good will._

  _Wally didn’t deserve that, neither did she._

_She couldn’t mourn the death of him, all the while seeking for comfort on Barry’s arms; the pain was unbearable, she couldn’t look at him after, much less marry him.  She understood why he did it, and she respected his decision, just as she hoped he did with hers._

_They remained close for everyone else’s sake–especially Joe’s– if pretending counts as it is._

  _That was months ago. Now, on the other hand, it’s proving really difficult to be here. It means drowning on sorrow when you’re supposed to acknowledge the glee of the occasion: Jenna’s party._

  _Watching Iris talk to Cecile on the other side of the room, he realizes he had a chance, and he screwed it up. No matter how hard they’d tried, it never worked. He doesn’t blame her, how could he when he knows it too? When in her place he would have done the same? That’s what she had to do, and it’s definitely what keeps him up at nights, knowing he made a mistake he can’t change no matter how much he’d like to._

 _He's failed at being a hero. And he's failed at love. He's getting tired of losing at everything._  

  _It's then that a knock on the door unsettles him. Standing up to open it, Barry shakes his head to clear his mind, he turns the knob and steps aside, not really expecting anyone–given the fact that everyone is already here–he doesn’t have time to reconsider that once she gets in, “Hey!” she exclaims hastily, “We need to talk” she explains at the questioning glare Barry's giving her, at the same time that a range of dumfounded, and utter disbelieving looks are thrown her way._

  _He's about to say something when “Wow! This house is bitchin” and did someone else hear that? By the way all of them are frowning and obviously confused, they did. His steps almost falter and he can see Caitlyn is about to reply when the news show something that catches his attention. Suddenly he can’t hear what anyone else is saying, heart racing. The only voice he hears is the news reporter’s as he asks: “Mr. Queen, why are you being arrested again?”._

  _Oliver’s now on the screen, right eye black and multiple other bruises on his face, handcuffed and serene “I have voluntarily handed myself over to the FBI”, Oliver remains confident even in his vulnerability, Barry thinks he's going weak in the knees as a premonition of what Oliver's about to say when asked “Can you comment any further?”._

_Acknowledging the presence of an invisible audience, with such grace and eloquence, Oliver looks right into the camera–Barry’s pretty sure he’s done that before, that’s probably how he hit that paparazzi years ago– “Yes I can. I’m The Green Arrow. I realize that I’ve denied that claim with the same conviction with which I am speaking now. I have let good people stand accused of things that I’ve done. Roy Harper is not the Green Arrow. Tommy Merlyn is most certainly not the Green Arrow. These are two names on a long list of people who have given so much and sacrificed everything in the name of my crusade. Some of them gave their lives, in the pursuit of one simple objective: to save our city. Star City still needs saving. Last night, we dealt our enemy a critical blow, but there is still work to be done. So, I’m looking to the people of this city–I’m looking to my allies, to my friends, to my partners–and I’m asking them to continue, to keep fighting. I’m asking them to complete our mission. To save our city.”_

  _Right now, Barry feels like his world is crumbling down, and he isn't even the one who has revealed his identity to the world, why would Oliver do that? Why is he putting a price on his own head? He's pretty sure he’s been standing still for what seems like hours, gaping at the TV, probably everyone's noticed since they are all looking towards the screen where Oliver's being taken away, hands on his back, and followed by his son and Felicity who look crushed and ravaged._

_“Wow, I did not see that one coming“ It is Cisco who brings him back from his reverie, and all eyes turn to him._

  _“I– I gotta go” he says just as fast as he gets out._

~~~~~~

Still looking at the wall, Oliver feels, more than sees, the air rushing and the lightning–he’s never been quite used to them to be honest–he knows what it means, what it stands for, but more importantly who brought them with him.

 Barry enters the room. He’s phased through the bars and walls, and now is standing there just looking around–hoping he’s not made a mistake and is about to have an awkward encounter with the wrong prisoner–before darting a glance at the movement on the cemented bed. He’s beaming now, with an easiness that often comes when he’s around the other man, a carefree stance where he can easily loose himself, make him almost forget what he came here for, revealing at last, a somewhat thankful expression, before the concern washes over his face.

 “Oliver, Oh thank God it’s you! I was so worried I’d ended up with one of the other inmates. I–How are you? I mean, how are you holding up?” Barry gulps, self-conscious at his reaction.

 The SHU is divided into concrete windowless cells, which have perforated doors that allow small streaks of light inside that combined with the dazzling lights on the ceiling made Oliver’s sleep restless. That’s how he knows Oliver is staring at him; his face is partially shadowed where he rests his face next to the wall, but his blue eyes are covert in light, making them completely visible to his own. They are wide and unblinking, intense, penetrating and raw. Barry hadn’t seen it before; he feels scrutinized, observed. He tenses unconsciously and breaks the eye contact when it was turning almost uncomfortable.

 Oliver straightens up, coming forward until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed; with calculated movements, he leans back, resting his elbows on the bed to where his handcuffs allow him to. Make no mistake, It isn’t inviting, it’s mostly a display of reluctance at the evident inquiry on Barry’s voice.

 “What are you doing here?” it comes out in a monotonous voice usually reserved for those under the wrong end of his bow. Rougher and demanding enough to send shivers down Barry’s spine, but surprisingly lacking any actual bitterness.

 Barry stumbles back trying to regain his composure and clears his throat, visibly hurt. "Well I-uh guess I wanted to see how you were doing" replying as he lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding since he arrived.

 "I meant, what are you _really_ doing here. Something tells me you didn't come six hundred miles to just see it by yourself in what I assume is the middle of the night, and if you really wanted to ask me just that, visits are still on the mornings" Oliver finishes his speech by coming forward and resting his elbows on his knees looking up at Barry, with what he most likely attributes to a smirk on his face as he continues "So... why?"

 Barry drops next to him on the floor, back against the wall, deciding it isn't necessary to stay stood when he clearly doesn't have an advantage anymore.

 "I'm here to get you out." Barry says while locking eyes with him. Blue and hazel; swallowed by their pasts and united by the darkness in their present. Begging him to consider, trying to make him understand that this is not an option. It’s his only choice.

 Oliver doesn't blink or scoff, so Barry takes it as an encouragement to continue. "Your team found out plausible proofs of a riot being promoted from the outside, they’re not only planning to escape Oliver... they are-" Barry spoke past the lump in his throat. "Since the Green Arrow isn't out to take them down and with the anti-vigilante law they want to send a message trying to prevent vigilantes from going out again-" Barry hopes Oliver understands the risk he is in, what he is trying to say, it’s hard enough seeing him like this, so… restricted.

 Oliver can almost see where this is going, but he needs confirmation. "Barry, what's the message?"

 Barry struggles to find the words and the courage to say it out loud, almost as if the mere mention would make it real, not an option but a fact, the inevitable repercussion.

 "Uh, right–they uh, they want to–to... kill you." Barry stammers with his hands on the back of his neck, now standing and pacing around the room with hunched shoulders and visibly tensed.

 Oliver remains stoic, not giving anything away, not an answer, not a signal.

 This isn’t surprising at all, not really. It's not that Oliver hasn't heard those words before–hell, he's even uttered them under the judgement of his cowl, and the imminent threat of his bow–but it's just the fact that he's made a promise, a vow to himself, and to others, to not retaliate, to deny and be deprived of his instincts of survival, even if it meant being willing to die so that others could live; basically, he's become resigned to be _Inmate 4587_ ; not the Green Arrow, a force to be reckoned with, someone willing to do what it takes to save his city, his loved ones, and to right the wrongs who threaten to endanger them. He isn't Oliver Queen either anymore, nor the billionaire playboy nor the mayor, to the public eyes he's just another fraud, a failure in a long line of dead predecessors. _He is just another name crossed off on a list._

Not a single of his previous identities or alter ego gratified him with glory or conferred him recognition. No. They aimed for pretenses–for the pain and suffering wrought by this life of excesses, of unconformity and the downright need to take justice on your own hands–as foreshadowed on the newspapers on his life. And they weren’t wrong.

 That’s why he's taken a number instead. Where his name and codename were attached to the mission and his partners, 4587 didn't carry that burden, his only commitment was to his conviction, wasn’t that all he once desired? Just him and the mission, but the mission has changed. And now, looking at Barry pull the hood of his jacket off, thin lipped, and brows creased in pity before his steps falter; Oliver realizes his sacrifice could mean nothing if this happened.

 All for nothing; the moral of his life.

 "How do you do it?" is Barry who whispers, finally breaking the growing silence, standing still in front of him.

 "Do what?" Oliver is unfazed by the immediate change on his expression towards the incredulous look Barry’s giving him now, probably rolling his eyes.

 Oliver moves backwards, back against the wall and knees folded. Head held high.

 “Act like you don't care” Barry states as a matter of fact, arms crossed over his chest to further prove his point. "Oliver, just listen to me. I know what you’re thinking; that you deserve this, but this is not redemption, this is the furthest thing from that. These criminals are going to kill you to spread fear and take over Star city. The department of justice is getting involved and want you to be put on the death row as a message everywhere, they just want to prove their point too. No more vigilantes on the streets and you finding your way back as a headline. Is this the justice you want so bad to face? Something you want to barely be a pawn on? Just a piece on their game?” Barry is panting by now, pacing back and forth with a ferocity that might leave a trail on the floor.

 “I don’t have a choice. Who’d I be If I go? And I’m not talking only about my identity. For so long I’ve said to criminals that they’ve failed the city; but I failed it too, my crusade, everyone, including myself. I’m not going anywhere, I’m not going to get out of here just so I can be a prisoner on the outside, I’m not going to escape the justice I used to give by my own hands. I wasn’t above the law, just like I’m not now. I just thought I was.” He sighs heavily.

 “Barry, I’ve made a choice that’s bigger than me. I have to do this, I've accepted it and you should too” Oliver adds looking right at him, his eyes are as honest as his words. Barry searches for something to falter, expectant for the façade to fall apart. It doesn’t. Oliver’s bruised face shows nothing but certainty, and the forcefulness of his body language seconds it.

 “Then I’m staying. When things go south, because they will, the two of us have more chance of surviving if we fight together” Barry remarks, ignoring Oliver’s scoff as he sits again on the floor crossing his legs, head resting on the wall.

 “No, you’re not. Barry you wouldn’t–“

 “Wouldn’t what? Wouldn’t survive? Is that it? Or is it that you can’t bare the idea of someone doing something for you? _‘tragedy happens, people make choices, and those choices affect everyone else’_ isn’t that what you told me? or was it just another lie to make me feel better about myself? Why is it so wrong for me to do this? Well, this is _my_ choice. I’m guilty too.”

 “I didn’t mean that– “ Oliver is cut off mid-sentence.

 “You never do” Barry scoffs rolling his eyes, he turns his face away from Oliver, finding it really hard to look at him, he feels tears welling up on his eyes, threatening to fall and show the world how truly affected he really is. He didn't know he was this stricken by the current situation, he knows he's being irrational and maybe a little harsh on Oliver, but knowing what he does about the future this is just a matter of time. It always is. 

 But there's nothing waiting for him on the outside, and that might be Barry's own prison cell.

 The only person who knows- _really-_  knows what that feels like almost reaches out to touch him before the restraints stop him midst action. After that, they find themselves submerged in utter silence, the room feels suddenly cold, and the air around them heavy and hostile, both wanting to say so much without needing to express it aloud.

 “I’m sorry” Oliver mumbles after what seems like an eternity. Looking at a fix point in his lap where his hands are hold out with his palms up and fingers spread out, tracing the outline to his wrists, where the chains have already left some marks.

 Barry hadn’t seen it before, but looking through the corners of his eyes, it’s visible that there are injuries that haven’t healed yet, some bandage is on his left arm showing some signs of dried blood. Barry thinks he looks tired. There isn’t a way to know if the patch of skin under his eyes is due to a physical confrontation or the actual lack of sleep, but he knows better than to expect the obvious with Oliver, so judging by the shaking of his hands and the hardness on his expression, Oliver’s regretting something, searching for answers written on his flesh, for something real and constant, a privilege he no longer has.

 Turning his face again, Barry arches his brow, urging him to continue and elaborate.

 "It’s just–I know who I am now. And after all these years, there's a victory in that." Oliver speaks, his jaw clenching as he runs his fingers across his cropped hair, head hanging low like admitting this is another struggle.

 “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t strong enough for this, I couldn’t say that even if I wanted to. It’s just… being here is another battlefield, where you must be somebody you’re not sure you’re anymore, reconsider who you were and accept what you’re becoming. To survive you must become _something else_ and I don’t think you deserve to go through that.” Oliver adds with eloquence, a resemblance of his old days as a public figure. A calmed manner overtaking him, the weight of the albeit unknown confession fell heavy on his shoulders, he felt constantly outbalanced by the choices he made, pulling the string to taut, almost at its breaking point.

 Barry’s face has contorted, he understands now that Oliver doesn’t only fear what he might become if he does this; but he’s frightened what Barry would think about him, because if people knew, if _he_ knew, he’d see him differently. Not innocent but _damaged._

 Barry tries his hardest not to look heartbroken and furious at the same time. The sole idea that this whole time Oliver’s had to lay bare the past he’d so long left behind, buried deep, until its reappearance, its infuriating, motivation enough to save him, even if it is from himself.

 “Oliver, I’m not afraid” Barry whispers while laying a gentle hand on Oliver’s wrists, keeping him grounded, letting him know he isn’t alone anymore.

 “I’m not afraid of who you’ve become. I’m not scared of you, Oliver–“ Barry insists, his hand guiding him towards him, not allowing him to go away, caressing his stubble covered cheeks in an act of pure gentleness, unthreatening, loving and so rewarding. Before finally continuing “Look at me, I still believe in you. You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me.”

 And with that Oliver allows him to sit next to him, to wrap his arms around him, securing him in an embrace he is unable to return from being physically restrained.

 While running his hands along his back and sides, Barry feels him flinch, followed by the ragged intake of air. He stops.

 “Oliver what’s–“ He’s quickly interrupted by Oliver’s assurance of his ‘wellbeing’.

 “It’s nothing. Just a cut.” He lifts his gaze and looks at Barry who’s certainly taking none of it.

 “Let me see.” Barry says again, this time studying him with concern.

 “It’s fine. _I’m_ fine” Oliver growls stubbornly before straightening up.

 “Ok” Barry mutters, his voice small. “C'mere.”

 And Oliver does so, albeit begrudgingly. Barry is, after all, fast enough to hug him without him knowing so, so he might as well let him.

 Barry held his head for what seemed like hours, afraid to let go, finding this so natural, unconcerned by the different clothes they wore, not caring about the labels, or what was expected from both. Equals in so many ways, yet so different.

 “I think we can both safely assume that I’m staying” Barry states clearing his throat as he moves away trying to recover from the intimacy they just shared, flashing him a smile, unsure of what to do next.

 Oliver smiles effortlessly at that.

 He doesn’t ask why he is here in complete isolation, there’s physical evidence to sustain an altercation that he most likely took part of, he’s got so much to say, to keep silent. But right now, he’s grateful, because for once in a long time, he’s where he wants to be. Even if it’s not ideal.

 This was just the beginning.

  

~~~~~~

  

_The beginning. Well this could have been with the capsizing of the Gambit – or the rebellious act of peeing on a cop if you will – but the actual day when his sentence began, when he was brought in to this prison, he hadn’t realized he was an enemy in both sides of the law, the criminals and now the cops._

_He was reminded of that early on, in fact, it was the fifth day of his stay._

_Oliver hadn’t had any 'contact'-if by contact you mean street worthy fights as the good old days- yet with the rest of the inmates, not until he was brought to the showers. They were small, the privacy granted only by the tiled walls which were barely above waist level._

  _Another reminder that by giving away his freedom he also lost his privacy._

_There were almost ten other inmates. The first one he recognized was Derek Sampson a.k.a Stardust who was on the cubicle on the far left back towards him._

_He kept his head down moving towards the ones on the back. Trying to go unnoticed would be an exhausting and impossible challenge, avoiding conflicts should be easier._

_Should be._

_Oliver strode into the obscure space, witnessing the evaporation of the cascading water analogous to his loss of the sense of entitlement. The liquid is running freely now, just controlled by gravity, starting at the top over his head and coming down to wash everything away; the dirt being removed by something so clear, so pure._

_He’s looking at the wall in front of him waiting for a reflection, something to remind him what he looks like, who he is, someone who does not pose a threat, at least towards himself… Right?_

_Oliver’s been under the water for at least ten minutes now, the downpour of his thoughts is just as turbulent as the stream on him, his scars are turning red, pleading to stop. His body aches, because this is a fight he’s already lost, he’s held captive without a way out, he can’t live two lives, there isn’t a complexity in his nature, in his moral codes, there isn’t an alter ego to take the blame, there’s just the man, he who now lays bare for the world to see, vulnerable at his most, lost looking at his battered flesh, plastered on him is the only thing that never leaves: the pain._

_His body’s acting upon its own accord, following the memory of his castaway’s days._

_Eyes wide open as the premonition of the threat washes over him, cold and urging. He’s calculating, his blood is running cold, his eyes are shifting rapidly, in ballistic movements that abruptly change the point of fixation–no longer on the wall–this can only be described as saccades, advising him of the impulsiveness of his actions against the imminent danger. With every movement he gives up the restraint, his eyes are getting harder, a raw expression overtakes his face, until he recognizes that this must be done, this is survival. Oliver turns around ready to take the four of them down, by whatever means necessary._

_He’s descending into **madness.**   _

 

 

 

 


	2. Repentance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver deals with the consequences of his choice, while Barry hides something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling when you're waiting for a fic to be updated for so long, and when it finally is, the wait is totally worth it? Well... this isn't it. I'm sorry it took forever, I hope it isn't too bad.

 

**_“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”_ **

****

****

_The fallen leaves are damp, the earthy ground against his nose as his body has given up on him isn’t enough to cease the metallic odor in the air, a suffocating reminder of what has just been done, what hasn’t been prevented._

_Even in death she is beautiful, her eyes are closed in acceptance of her destiny, acceptance of_ his _choice._

_Her body looks almost peaceful in its stillness, taking a final break of this godforsaken island._

_A dead calm envelops his features, as the noise around him turns to mute._

_This is just another day in_ Purgatory _._

_Another choice paid with blood._

_He is so lost in thoughts, he doesn’t realize there’s movement from behind. A sudden rush in the otherwise eerily quiet night, disturbing the bafflement hanging in the air, and defying the impossible._

_Oliver opens his eyes, red-rimmed orbits reflecting the flashing lights back to the black sky._

_There’s a hooded figure standing in front of him, moving only to pick up the gun that’s been left on the floor after hitting its latest bullseye._

_Crouching down for it, the hood falls from its place to rest between shoulder blades and black hair. Her face is lit up by the moon and the lights surrounding them, instead of bleeding to death on the floor._

_There’s no word to describe the relief in his features, the serenity brought only by Shado’s presence, by her survival._

_He doesn’t dare question how she can be alive, there’s only certainty on how she would have died._

_Oliver’s aware of the incoming rumbling, distinct from the forest-dwelling sounds, stronger, angrier, unrelenting._

_Trying to sit straight again, he is met with Sara’s gaze–is incredible how much both of them have changed, how It doesn’t hold naïveté any longer, or the cheer that comes with youth, but instead shows the horrors of war, the heavy weight of an internal battle, and the animosity to be staring at a monster–Shado’s isn’t any different, although it shows something else: resignation._

_As Slade appears from the trees behind them, Shado and Sara come closer in front of him, seemingly speaking without doing so. Slade joins them, his bloodshot eyes testimony of the Mirakuru within him._

_Scanning the scene before him, Slade lunges forward towards Ivo, gripping him by the throat while his bewilderment impedes him to scape, clenching his fist impossibly tight around his neck without killing him. Not yet. But enough to allow him to suffer and watch._

_Slade rips Ivo’s shirt open and with inhuman strength pierces his skin and rips his heart off from his ribcage, disposing the lifeless body where just minutes ago lied Shado’s._

_Holding the gun on her right hand, steadily, Shado comes forward to a kneeled Oliver; there is blood on the left side of her face, falling down her eyebrow and caressing her cheek, Slade and Sara close behind her, light descends upon him, like a judgement for a crime he’s committed, he can’t scape even if he wanted to, his body is consumed by fear, cold is engulfing his bones, driving him still on the spot, washed by the spotlight._

_Sara and Shado. The eternal juxtaposition of his past and present. Sentenced by the former and condemned by the latest. Two names in a soon-to-be long list of people he has failed to._

_And there’s Slade, which reminds him of his impossibility to foresee the future._

_"Why didn't you choose me?" Shado's voice cut through the reverie in his mind, small but–oh–so hurtful, making his heart clench._

_How could he have chosen one? Both were innocent, the only crime they ever committed was trusting him,_ loving _him._

_He was a coward putting his live over theirs, thinking he was worthy of another chance when he had fallen twice._

_"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His voice was full of regret and guilt._

_They look at him with harshness instead of understanding._

_"You know… the thing is, you have said so before, it's not even pitiful anymore."_

_Slade moves behind Shado, hands trembling in uncontrollable rage._

_"You had a choice kid." Slade growls leaning in closely, tilting Oliver's chin up._

_"And you chose wrong"._

_Frozen on the spot, Oliver can see the flashlights cascading on him, the gun in Shado’s hand against his head, and the shining of the katana as he closes his eyes._

 

“Oliver”.

_A sword runs in right to the hilt, piercing his left side as he tries unsuccessfully to move._

_A blow against his windpipe later has him gasping for air, preventing him from going anywhere._

_Oliver tries to open his eyes, but in a swift movement the sword embeds against his heart and they slam shut as white-hot pain erupts in his chest spreading slowly throughout the rest of his body._

_It’s painful and familiar all the same._

_Blood falls from his mouth as he finally opens his eyes, watching the warm liquid of life drip on the mantle of snow beneath his feet._

__This isn’t Lian Yu._ _

__

_Pulling back the sword. The demon recites the last words Oliver will hear in life: “forgive and have mercy upon him. Excuse him and pardon him. Make honorable his reception. Protect him from the punishment of the grave. And the torment of the fire”_

__

_As he kneels over the edge of the cliff on the edge of death, the irrefutable resemblance to all those nights ago when he knelt to take a life remind him the irony of now begging for his._

__

_Flashes of his life come to his mind and he can't help but think that nobody will care if he dies. No one will miss either of his personas. Playboy billionaire Oliver Queen, a selfless, egocentric and arrogant brat whose death will give his fatherland relief. Someone whose major achievement in life was what was expected when you have it all: Nothing._

__

_And yet, he’s let everyone down._

__

_And the Arrow, which in and on itself has made enough enemies during his crusade to “save the city”, and enough reputation for his tactics, just another freak, another psycho off the streets._

__

_“But I know the Arrow. Al Sah-Him will never be anything more than a vigilante for those whose lives you save at the risk of your own”, Ra’s had said to him under different circumstances. “Your city will turn on you. And your closest allies within the police department will call you a criminal. You will be scorned and hunted and then killed, dying as you began your crusade._ _Alone._ _”_

__

_How ruthlessly true it has become._

__

_The demon’s words hold truth in them. Oliver in his idiosyncrasy avoided them for long, he’d even said to Barry once ‘wear a mask’, but what comfort does it bring now when he’s been condemned for wearing one?_

__

_He doesn’t know. But he knows the world is better off without him._

__

_It has been._

__

 

__

“Oliver, wake up”.

__

 

__

_Isn’t it odd that he felt lonely after being Star City’s heartthrob?_

__

_And he can only think that this is what he deserves, what he expected his oath to end like._

__

_Alone. Dead._

__

_Tommy. His memory is utterly painful, his words cutting into him where he thought himself impenetrable._

__

_He's been called a monster and a killer by his best friend. Do monsters have a heart? Why does it hurt so much if he doesn't have one?_

__

_That indescribable something in his chest cracks… twists._

__

_‘It should’ve been me’ He’d said to him. And now his wish is being granted._

__

_Wouldn't Tommy's life have been better off without him? Laurel's would have, Sara’s, Mckenna’s, Roy’s, Felicity’s, Diggle… even Helena, who was lost already when he tried to save her, he was a fool thinking she could have had another chance, but if she did, he would’ve had it too._

__

_Even Thea or… Samantha._

__

_God, He had gotten his son’s mother killed._

__

_Why has everything gone so horribly wrong?_

__

Why does everybody keep leaving me? _He said to Quentin, like Laurel once said to him._

__

_It makes sense now. He left them no choice._

__

 

__

“Oliver! Wake up!”

__

 

__

Chilled to the marrow and mildly aware of his surroundings, something touches his neck before grabbing his arm.

__

Oliver’s eyes fly open and he reaches forward, blinded by the dazzling lights in the room.

__

He lunges, catching Barry off guard as the air on his lungs is forced out of him as his back collides against the floor.

__

Oliver is straddling his lap, knees at either side of him, restricting his legs’ movements. One of his hands is squeezing Barry's neck and the other one’s got Barry's right hand pinned above his head.

__

Barry’s gaze connects with his, but he isn't looking at him, is almost like he is looking through him.

__

Barry can't talk, his vision has started to get fuzzy. He feels disoriented as the back of his head still hurts due to the force of the impact.

__

In a haze, he tries unsuccessfully to push Oliver off him as he remains immovable, unfazed by the hand pushing against his chest and the gulping of air from beneath him.

__

Oliver’s heart and breathing rate have potentially increased since waking up, Barry also notices his pupils are dilated, and his muscles are contracted. The hand around Barry’s neck is cold as the one securing his arm. Barry realizes hitting him again or trying to escape is futile, he won't manage to get to Oliver if he thinks he's being attacked, he needs to reassure him the opposite, calm him down.

__

“O-Oliver.” Barry manages to mutter under the pressure “It’s me”. Oliver’s eyes shift ever so slightly, mind undoubtedly working.

__

“It’s Ba-Barry.” After Oliver’s eyes focus on him scanning the evident signs of his physical struggle, he groans “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

__

At that, Oliver’s eyes widen. The blue of his irises previously obscured by bleakness are now covered in bleak shadows.

__

Oliver stares horrified at the angry red fingerprints on his neck then at his hands. Blue eyes remain wide and unblinking. A feeling of dread settles over him.

__

“Hey, I’m okay.”

__

Oliver bounces off him, reeling back until he hits the nearest wall next to the bedside table.

__

"Barry, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry." Oliver’s voice wavers. It hurts him just admitting he’s caused Barry pain, knowing he is falling apart to the point that the little semblance of control he had over himself is no longer there.

__

He feels as though he is merely a spectator in his mind’s play.

__

But, how could Barry be okay with this?

__

He almost-... he didn't. But he could have, couldn't he?

__

How much longer could Barry have taken?

__

This isn’t new. Last time Oliver was in prison, hell forge him into a living weapon, in a survival machine, an unstoppable force of nature, unfazed by the threats surrounding him given he was a light sleeper, unless trapped in a nightmare, acutely aware of his surroundings in the outside world.

__

He fought then by his force of will... but now Oliver's only threat in this room is himself; so naturally, he’s afraid. Afraid that if he shuts his eyes the demons of his past come back to haunt him, but this time he won’t be able to release himself from their clutches. Or maybe new ones will rise, and there is little he can do to tell if they are real or not. What if this is just another play? How can he trust himself?

__

Maybe that's why Star City didn't trust him either, he's too far gone.

__

Oliver inhales deeply, scared to break the semblance he's gotten of reality by shutting his eyes. He rests his head against the wall and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes willing this nightmare to stop.

__

He feels movement.

__

What if this isn’t just an illusion? What if he’s actually hurt Barry?

__

Oliver's gotten a glimpse of a happy fake world once, one where he didn't have to fight an endless war, an unrelenting enemy. But the thing is, he knows that’s the reason why this fight is worth the effort, because it's necessary, because even though in his illusion he didn't see it, it didn't mean it wasn't happening, his reluctance to go back only diminished the importance of the lives at risk.

__

He couldn't take that chance. As tantalizing as it was, he does what he does because it's the right thing to do, not because it's the best thing for him, if that were true he would be his frat boy self and he wouldn't have sacrificed everything without expecting a reward.

__

He came back from the dream world to the grief and the pain awaiting him to keep fighting. That's also the reason he's now in prison, for doing more of what he should, what everyone else didn’t or simply ignored.

__

For fighting back.

__

Doing so has only achieved his confinement, it doesn't matter what’s at stake, he has often lost. So why should he now? Wouldn't it be easier to succumb to his desires? Dive into his fears?

__

Or maybe just finally snap. He’s got nothing to lose other than his sanity or what’s left of it.

__

If this isn't Barry, then it's too late already.

__

His hands are kindly pulled away from where they rested on his eyelids willing the sting in his eyes to stop, successfully interrupting his absorption.

__

He’s forced to meet Barry's soft and concerned gaze. He feels scrutinized under his attention, exposed and vulnerable in a way he's let no one else see, it's almost intimate, something he can't really keep to himself as much as he’d want to. Strangely enough it doesn’t feel wrong.

__

It's kind of ironic Barry is worried about his well-being when he nearly choked him to death. Shouldn't _he_ be afraid?

__

He could be. But this is how the two of them _really_ met each other the first time around. Barry must be used to it by now, this is what _he_ does. He probably saw it coming.

__

It’s too how he greeted his mother back then on his first night upon his arrival on Starling City.

__

A simple glance of what he’s become. Who he used to be, and now he’s shaping towards again.

__

It’s crushing the relief that flows through him at how real Barry feels. How his hands on his wrists are warm and grounding, their smoothness is soothing against his calloused ones. Taking cognizance of Barry’s presence, the downpour of his thoughts lessens, his ragged breath comes out in short pants now, and his hands stop where he didn’t know were shaking. Just now he realizes how much he's craved for any non-lethal physical contact. How kind and overwhelming this is. How much suffering he's been put through that it feels normal by now, he understands it, he's been molded by it; but in the way he's been denied the compassion of a touch, heartwarming and gentle, to the point that it seems strange, as though he doesn't deserve it, he hasn't earned it.

__

He tries his damn hardest to keep it all at bay, but his hands are almost recoiling under the pressure.

__

"Hey, it's okay." His eyes may have betrayed his façade because now Barry's drying away the moisture that's fallen on his cheek. And it hurts even more that he fails to hide it away, to keep it all inside.

__

He swallows, overcome with sudden sadness. "How can it be?" Oliver whispers back as he shifts, and Barry could hear his voice break ever so slightly when he spoke again.

__

"How can you be okay with this?" Oliver points at the vanishing red fingerprints around his neck and expresses what he was thinking seconds ago "I could have–"

__

"But you didn't." Barry states with certainty pulling his wrist away, his voice unwavering.

__

Oliver grits his teeth, his jaw clenching at Barry's unwillingness to recognize the danger he was in. In which he _still_ is.

__

"You know what I meant." Oliver whispers again, but in a tone that admitted no discussion.

__

Barry looks to the side, his gaze casting downwards immediately connecting with the floor, he sighs and turns his head again locking their eyes together. "I know, and I'm sorry I was the one who put you through that. I shouldn't have wakened you up, it's just–you were having a nightmare and I–I didn't know what else to do, you seemed pretty shaken up by it so I–".

__

"You don't have to apologize, I–I really needed that." Oliver looks to the door on the side, sighing heavily as he adds “It’s just–I actually think it’s better to stay awake than to fall asleep.”

__

“What do you mean?" Barry inquires, and there are furrows in his forehead in doing so.

__

At this, Oliver manages to huff a wry laugh, to which Barry raises an eyebrow. It isn’t that he’s trying to belittle the question, it has more to do with the absurdity of his situation.

__

“If you knew, you'd see me differently.” And this time Barry smiles with an ease that ought to be contagious.

__

"Oliver, people do the best they can with the circumstances they're given. That's what you’re doing, and although the people in Star City may not think the same, that's the reason you’re a hero in the first place. You’re the one they got but don’t deserve." He repeats what he told Oliver the first time they talked after being sent to Slabside, not trying to hide his perpetual disapproval at Oliver’s choice and his city’s ungratefulness, while beaming and putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

__

"I'm sure you did everything you _could_."

__

It pains him to know it isn’t true, to know that’s the exact same reason why he’s here isolated, confined in this cavernous room.

__

“Barry, you don’t understand.” Oliver groans as his head falls back to the wall again, rubbing his fingers along his temples.

__

“Well, help me.” Barry replies wrinkling his eyebrow.

__

Oliver glances at him and that’s his first mistake, he can’t deny him anything at that look–not that he would ever say that to Barry or anyone or just simply voice it aloud– he sighs "It's not what I did that troubles me. It's what I didn't do" He dares not to look into Barry’s eyes. He can’t see the disappointment.

__

"I’m not following" Barry reports letting his arm fall from where it sat on Oliver’s shoulder and folding them over his chest, an earnest look overshadowing the previous joviality of his features.

__

Oliver stands and sits on his bed, hanging his head while his elbows rest on his knees "I allowed things to happen, I should have stopped them, I _could_ have."

__

“I’m not who you think I am. And I’m most definitely not a hero.”

__

Oliver’s haunting gaze fell upon the wall as he remembered.

__

 

__

~~~~~~

__

 

__

_The prison yard gym could have been a relief in an otherwise poor social milieu given his condition. Especially considering he was good at this, it was one of the few things that allow him to maintain his endurance. Not only physical but also mental._

__

_Barry’s visit earlier today was… unexpected, but not unwelcomed. He didn’t expect to hear from any of his friends so soon, more so for it to be this emotionally exhausting. He didn’t anticipate for his control to be so out of reach._

__

_It was that feeling which had granted him comfort not so long before, or so he felt until he was interrupted._

__

_“You’re the Green Arrow” some guy remarked, more than asked, pointing at him as he approached._

__

_“Wrong guy” Oliver retorted in a fruitless attempt to avoid the topic._

__

_The somewhat short guy wasn’t taken aback by Oliver’s effort to remain incognito; instead he proceeded in an enthusiast manner as he exclaimed “I’m a big fan. You have failed this city!”._

__

_Well… he couldn’t have anticipated that. And if he_ truly _is searching for the Green Arrow he’s about to be let down._

__

_“I’m not that person anymore.” He didn’t deny it with the passion and fervor he once did, and although he had said it multiple times over the course of the years, one may think it got easier, by living the lie he’d also fooled himself into admitting the truth, but this time was different, this time it wasn’t a lie. He used to be that person, but he wasn’t anymore._

__

_Although the Green Arrow and him had something in common, both were wanted criminals._

__

_With a sigh of resignation and furrowing his brows Oliver became fully aware that this was his first day. This was just the beginning._

__

_\-----_

__

_Stanley–as he’d later learn was his name–was constantly by his side during the first couple days. He could be seen at Oliver’s table during lunch, explaining the dynamic of the prison to him, giving him an insight on the rest of the inmates during a workout, or even taking showers simultaneously._

__

_During that time, he often commented on Oliver’s past, on how many people he’d taken down– some of which were here giving him not-so-subtle glances–on his motivations, which unnerved Oliver slightly, maybe because he managed to sound like a fanboy while doing so._

__

_But mostly because he didn’t want to talk about it. It was difficult to ponder over the idea that this might be the end of it, as if he was consigned to tell the tale: the final chapter on the adventures of a lifetime._

__

_Although hesitant at first, Oliver figured it best to have someone he could rely on–albeit an unforeseeable ally–to keep him informed, who didn’t ask something in return._

__

_He didn’t think he should give something in exchange, he didn’t want to be attached to further commitments, it wasn’t supposed to be a symbiotic relationship, now was it?_

__

_After all everything came with a price._

__

_On his fourth day, a downpour prevented the routine they had set from happening. The possibility of letting out his frustrations gone as the water fell furiously on the yard._

__

_Passing by a group of inmates who rested on the corridors, talking to each other as they spend their time, he decided to head down to his cell and get some workout done either way._

__

_He couldn't help but feel the glares they were giving him. He picked up his pace and doubled over the next turn, keeping his head down all the way._

__

_There were numerous doors on each side of the wall, some of them–Oliver figured–were destined for storage, most probably for cleaning equipment, or incoming supplies of food, either way, it really wasn't his business to find out, and he would’ve kept going if it wasn't for the sounds coming from the other side of the door._

__

_There was a discussion, it could have been an argument–not totally uncommon–or a simple disagreement between guards._

__

_He stopped by the door on the left side of the wall, his position didn't allow him to take a better look to the inside without going unnoticed. Even through the ajar door eavesdropping was difficult, especially since if he got caught he didn't have any believable explanation to support it._

__

_There was something he did recognize though, made easier when the speaker raised his voice in a threatening manner._

__

_"I assume you know what this is about" A man he recognized as Derek Sampson sneered as a screeching sound burst into the background, similar to the one a knife upon the metallic surface of a table does._

__

_“Or else, allow me to remind you.” He continued, dragging a chair next to whom Oliver supposed he was referring to._

__

_"I–I didn’t tell him. I swear!" Oliver watched through the crack on the door focusing on Stanley, who grunted as the hit on his gut made him spit the blood he'd gathered on his mouth._

__

_He was being held above the table. There were a couple of boxes lying around and a few mops and brooms as well. From his position–face glued to the doorframe–Oliver could see one–he turned to the right to take in the rest of the room–there were two inmates in fact, holding him down by the shoulders. One he recognized as Ben Turner–who he met as Bronze Tigger during his criminal activities on Star City–and the other one he didn’t know his name, both were by Stanley’s sides. Meanwhile, Sampson sat behind his head, gripping his hair with one hand and the knife on the other whilst talking nonchalantly._

__

_“I’d like to believe you, but my friends here don’t seem so fond of you. You gotta understand them, it’s hard to think better of you after what you’ve done. Allying yourself with Queen? We’re just tryna warn you, and make sure you ain’t gonna do it again” Sampson stated, “We care about you, Stan.” He proceeded to give him a few pats on his cheek before standing up again, straightening up and rolling up the sleeves of his sweater._

__

_Oliver couldn’t move, not even if he wanted to, he was rooted to the spot, his eyes were wide open, and his mouth was probably hanging open. The mention of his name startled him. He expected that, and by that he means the retaliation. But seeing it was another story. It reminded him of that time he was tortured by Bill Wintergreen, when he first met Yao Fei and didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Stanley most certainly knew what he was doing, but it only made Oliver realized there weren’t going to be any allies in here, the rest of them might fear what could be done to them if they so much as greeted him–not that they’d want to since he’s the reason they’re there to begin with–but the acknowledgement sits heavy upon him._

__

_He didn’t want any trouble, he just wanted his sentence to go by without altercations, or at least preventable ones such as yesterday’s at lunch. He didn’t come looking for friends, he didn’t ask for this, why should he even care for this guy he’d just met? He never asked him to risk his life for him, he wasn’t innocent either, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, would he? ‘After all, there weren’t any_ Heroes _in here’ or so he was said. He never signed to be in the middle of a gang war, but what else could he possibly have expected?_

__

_If he wanted to get back to his city, to his “friends”, his son and family; he ought to have a good behavior, it’ll reduce his sentence, or else he’ll die in this place if he wasn’t killed before, stabbed while sleeping, poisoned, beaten up before bleeding to death, just choose._

__

_This is how they punished treason, with blood. How many people on his team would be dead and buried had he done the same? Is it fitting he’s punished in the same way for his lack of reciprocity in this case? He didn’t promise anything, you can’t be blamed for something you haven’t taken part of to begin with. He didn’t owe this man anything, just like he didn’t owe Oliver anything._

__

_After all, if there are Heroes in here, he isn’t one of them._

__

_He is here for himself._

__

_Ironically enough, sentenced for someone else’s crimes. Isn’t that heroic?_

__

_It doesn’t matter anymore, he’s done with it._

__

_Oliver didn’t want to die either, he just wanted to start living. This was his only chance at doing so. His only choice._

__

_As the scene developed in front of his eyes, Stanley was beaten multiple times, time passed, and his cries and grunts were growing lower._

__

_Daniel Brickwell stood out of the shadows in the corner of the room, coming into view. He stopped beside Sampson, tapping him on the shoulder as an indication to end his ministrations._

__

_Sampson took a step back and Brickwell grabbed Stanley’s gory visage, leaning in to check his message was heard._

__

_“Are we clear?” he requested in his ear, after turning Stanley’s face towards the door to do it properly._

__

_His eyes were closed as his mouth and nose gushed out blood. He took some time to reply, probably fuzzy and on the verge of passing out. He nodded and Brickwell let him go. No longer being held down Stanley opened his eyes, dazed and aching his gaze fell on Oliver who was still looking through the loophole. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to. Seconds might have passed as they looked at each other, none of them making any movement, judging silently, pondering were this left them, what this meant._

__

_Ending what had just began._

__

_Stanley finally closed his eyes going into a restless blackout and Oliver stepped back until he hit the opposite wall, gulping past the lump in his throat, he composed himself and kept walking to his cell. Nonetheless, he had a workout to do._

__

__

~~~~~~

__

__

“Oliver?”

__

“Huh?” He catches on with the present at the mention of his name, he’s probably been silent for half an hour.

__

“… So?” Barry asks standing in front of him.

__

“I’m sorry Barry. What was the question?” Oliver says scratching the back of his head.

__

“Doesn’t matter... Are you alright?” He offers while raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

__

“Yeah.” Oliver retorts while feeling his hand twitch with the need of his bow, the eternal promise to lighten his frustrations at the minimal draw of the bowstring and the absolute bliss to let it go.

__

Composing himself and taking a proper look at Barry–who’s still got his eyebrow in a fine arch nearly over his hairline–he says what’s been on his mind since Barry woke him up.

__

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

__

“I already told you.” He takes in a breath and is probably about to start rambling before Oliver beats him to it.

__

“I know, but I mean the truth.”

__

Barry looks a little taken aback at Oliver’s perceptiveness, but quickly responds in an unreadable tone. “Well, you haven’t answered my question either _–_ “ He taps his chin thoughtfully before continuing “it seems only fair to me you do it first.” Barry smirks, and he looks totally smug while holding Oliver’s glower.

__

It grows harder and harder to keep looking at him with that withering look, Barry’s pride and beam only widen as he jokes “Oh _–_ “ feigned shock evident in his voice “I’m sorry, did I break your concentration? Don’t let this stop you.” He rejoices while pointing a finger at his cocky grin.

__

“Oh, Shut up!” Oliver retorts trying to stifle his laugh, there’s little he can do when Barry can already see it reaching his eyes.

__

This is so simple and yet so satisfying, to pretend for a second that this is not his life now, his reality, this could be just some temporary deal, another oath he’s made to someone else, not his father this time.

__

The fact that he’s given so much for so many, without getting anything in return, not their gratefulness, not even their recognition, it’s kind of outrageous. He’s been living _his_ life for others, and now he’s lost something as “banal” as his freedom. He’s got nothing left to offer beyond what he’s already given up, therefore he’s disposable.

__

After a while their chuckles die out. Barry sits beside Oliver on the bed, hands on his pockets.

__

Oliver glances at him, his head hangs low between his shoulders and he rubs his hands together, stopping occasionally to run one of them through his hair. And it could all be attributable to the crime he was committing by coming here or to the thrill that came with the forbidden. But Oliver knew better than to blame it at that. Barry’s tenseness wasn’t due to their proximity either–given the fact that their legs were almost touching each other–there was something strange about his demeanor that he couldn’t quite place immediately, until he realizes he’s seen it before on the younger man, hell that’s what he sees when he looks at a mirror–and he’s pretty sure that’s the way he looks right now if he had one–this is something he recognizes, It’s like Barry’s putting on an effort to it, to make it seem normal, trying to hide the stiffness on his body, to conceal the weight of the world that rested on his hunched shoulders.

__

It’s the way Barry carried himself when he found out the man who was helping him killed his mother, or when the Dominators came looking for him and his only ally back then is the one sitting next to him now.

__

It’s not really the world he carries upon himself, it’s the burden of a choice that _cannot_ be made.

__

Something is going on.

__

Barry’s thin–lipped when he gives Oliver a sidelong glance, catching the latter looking intently at him made him self–conscious, to which he offered Oliver a sheepish grin he wasn’t sure how to answer; so ultimately his gaze casts once again downwards in an effort to gain some confidence and rebuilt his walls, before muttering something under his breath Oliver can’t quite make out.

__

Oliver sighs and shifts imitating Barry’s stance. “I’m getting out of confinement today.”

__

“Really? How long have you been here for?” He inquires finding the floor extremely amusing.

__

“I thought you knew?” Oliver raises a curious eyebrow in what Barry supposes isn’t really a question, it comes out rather as an imperative request, urging him to continue.

__

“Well, it’s not like I have an in or something.” Playfulness evident in his voice.

__

“I just thought that–you know, since you had talked to Diggle and he came by before I was sent here you probably knew.”

__

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

__

“I see. But he _did_ tell you the number of the room I was in?” He analyzes with Incredulity at the blatant lie he was told.

__

“Oh…Yeah.” Barry shakes his head trying to focus on anything but his pounding heart. “I mean, yes. Why does that even matter? He just mentioned it.”

__

“Because we both know that he didn’t, _couldn’t_. What I want to know is _why_ you’re lying to me about that.”

__

Barry’s heart stopped. How could Oliver know? Was he that obvious? No, he was sure he was being inconspicuous, he hasn’t told anyone and there was only another person who knew, and _she_ hasn’t said it to anyone else–that he knew of–yet, did he let something slip? He was careful but–

__

“Barry, stop. I can hear you thinking.” Oliver rolls his eyes in annoyance. “No, no one’s told me anything, that’s why I’m asking you.”

__

“Ah, right. So we–I came across a–“ Barry stammered before being abruptly interrupted by Oliver.

__

“The truth, please.” A skeptical expression plastered all over his face.

__

Barry sighs heavily and is about to start again with as much sincerity as he can muster up when a screeching stops him mid-effort.

__

Covering their ears, the sound only increases when the adjacent doors are being banged in unison, there are footsteps and then screaming in the hall, coming through the walls in dire prediction.

__

In Oliver’s experience, usually the worst part doesn’t come from the outside. It stems from within the confines of his mind, product of the tireless voices in his head, the sounds of his unconscious mind’s depth talking to him, threatening to obliterate his reality.

__

It’s come to the point where a quiet mind is to Oliver both, his worst nightmare and an unattainable dream.

__

Occasionally, yells, murmurs and punching on the walls can be heard, but often the rooms remain eerily quiet, inmates succumbing to the horrors of their actual existence while somatizing stress and desolation. Judging by this, the other inmates don’t fear what’s behind that door, in fact, like Oliver, they are fearful when coming face to face with their true identity.

__

They’re confined to their cells for 22 and a half to 24 hours a day. They will only leave it for an hour’s solitary exercise in a barren concrete yard or for a 15-minute shower on alternate days. Technology and design allow for these two activities to take place with a flick of a switch and without direct staff contact. Food, medication, post and any other provisions will be delivered to them through the hatch in their cell door, with little communication or time-wasting.

__

When the prison gates slam shut, it’s almost as if prisoners lost their human quality.

__

Another thing they left behind.

__

 

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Currently, Barry gets up next to Oliver looking frantic, he wrings his hands and paces back and forth worried they’ve been discovered. His anxiety is dizzying Oliver, who puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down and prompt him to stop. He leans in, hot breath caressing his earlobe, his lips ghosting over his ear and with a hoarse voice placated by the prickle of his beard on Barry’s skin.

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“Go, I’ll be fine.”

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He turns his head to find himself staring into ocean blue, daring him to stay and swallow him whole. He gulps and nods, and he runs, as fast as he can without looking back, knowing that if he does, he may not be able to go.

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There are a few things he’s got to do; first he’s got to talk to her, and then… well, he’s got to decide what to do.

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He arrives at Central. Thankfully CC JITTERS hasn’t closed yet. He opens the door and strides over to the counter, resting his arms upon the surface, he can see her cleaning the tables over the corner, she’s about to move to the next when she turns around to notice him, and she beams at him like she has known him all her life–she technically has, which isn’t unnerving, at all–and he can’t help but notice his daughter looks exactly like her **mother**.

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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I would love to hear what you thought.


End file.
